All At Once
by l'author
Summary: Killua's trying his best to be a good big brother, and sometimes it means wondering how he wound up with lipstick on his eyelid. A collection of happenings between our two favorite Zoldycks. (Family/humor/angst/friendship) (it's starting to be less humor and more angst) (don't get me wrong, this is about Killua) (he has issues) (he's also trying so hard)
1. Dressing Room

He was lost. Completely bewildered. Growing increasingly flustered. Nothing in his torture training or Nen training had prepared him to face this challenge.

"Big brother Killua~! It's too long!"

 _What kind of top do you pair with a floral maxi-skirt?!_

"O-okay! I'll find another one!" Killua shouted from the other side of the dressing-room door. Alluka handed him the unflattering top underneath the door, the hem of her skirt curling around her ankles visibly when Killua grabbed the top and threw it into an increasingly-heaping "no" pile shoved between the wall and the chair Killua designated for non-shopping (yet no less tortured) family members. The dressing room attendant seemed to be irritated by the mess they were making, but Killua didn't have time to pay her any mind; he had a mission.

She'd said it was too long; well alright then, Killua supposed. He'd find her a shorter one.

He darted around the store like a madman, and yes, teenaged girls were giving him some nasty looks because _seriously, what was he doing here?_

 _Shorter top… Shorter top…_

He managed to come across a fitted black blouse that, while shorter than the last one, had longer sleeves. It would be perfect, Killua thought, for preserving heat if they ever got caught in the wilderness at night.

The problem was, there were several teenage girls swarmed like bumble bees around the top. It was clearly a popular choice, but shoot, a girl with honeycomb hair was reaching for it, and then it'd be gone, and Alluka wouldn't get to have it.

Killua took a step, a small one to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

 _Rhythm Echo…_

At once, he'd swiped the shirt from her hands and was safely positioned behind a mannequin sporting cuffed overalls as the girls whipped around in startled alarm.

 _"_ _It literally just disappeared!"_

He rushed back to the dressing room. "Here," he said, reaching under the door yet again. "Try this one."

He stood up and prayed to whatever God was out there that this one would work. For a Forever 21, this dressing room was rather small; it had four changing rooms, a rack for any discarded clothing (and Killua was aware that the fact he wasn't using it was annoying the attendant, but he really didn't have time to hang shit up when he had to help his sister), and a full-length mirror in the back. Beside his chair was a middle-aged woman, presumably the mother of the girl in the dressing room across from Alluka's. Her lips were tight when Killua looked at her (she was probably uncomfortable with a fourteen-year-old boy being so close to her naked daughter, but what was he supposed to do?), and lain across her folded arms were several dresses, which she handed to her daughter whenever she emerged from her dressing room with a frown.

"Whattaya think, Mom?" the girl emerged from her stall and spun around in a daisy-colored shift dress. The woman's expression softened significantly.

"It's beautiful, honey," she said, then walked to the mirrors with her daughter. Killua watched from his isolated corner. She pinched some of the fabric around the girl's waist. "It could be even more flattering if we get it taken in about a size."

"Yeah, it's a C but my waist is a 30," she remarked, and the mother hummed knowingly.

 _…_ _I literally have no idea…_

"Brother, it's…"

Killua pounced up. "It's what? Does it fit?"

"It's… I don't know…"

Killua stood outside of her door, heart pounding, waiting and hoping. Alluka stepped out of the room, which was a good sign, because she'd yet to show Killua anything she'd tried, but her eyes weren't meeting his, and she didn't approach the mirror at the end of the hall.

"I don't look right…" was all she said. She stood in the hall, looking at the teenage girl by the mirror, twirling, mother pulling at the fabric until it sat on her just right on her hips. Killua stood behind Alluka, seeing how starkly the edges of her silhouette contrasted with the soft curves of the women by the mirror.

"It doesn't look right," Killua corrected. He turned Alluka to face him. "I'm sorry. I'm picking all the wrong colors — that skirt is perfect, why would I overshadow it with long tops or put some sad black with it?"

Alluka nodded, but her expression didn't change.

"Take that off, I'll go find you something better."

She went back into the dressing room. Killua sighed, resting his forehead against the shut door.

"Hey," said a light soprano. Killua turned: the mother, an edition of _Teen Vogue_ in her outstretched hand, daughter smiling at her side. "Try this."

Eyes wide, he took the proffered magazine, and smiled uncomfortably as they left.

(Naturally, Killua wondered how it had come to this: how it had come to him, reading _Teen Vogue_ , in a Forever 21 dressing room.)

Flipping through the magazine, he came across a section about "daring fashion choices," (which, granted, he was kind of an expert at, but whatever), which discussed matching two supposedly clashing patterns based on colors.

 _If a pattern consists of mostly lines, for example, try pairing it with something that will round out the edges, like pairing stripes with polka dots. This will only work if the tones of the colors match up, so pay attention to your color-wheel! An easy way to find a match to a patterned fabric is pick a clothing article whose main color is the secondary color of the first one, with its own secondary color as the tertiary of the first or one that complements it. See some fashion-forward examples below!_

Killua repeated it like a mantra all the way to the blouse section.

 _But shorter, and fitted, and… there!_

"Alluka," he said once he returned to the dressing room, soft, definitely-impractical seafoam green-and-blush striped top in hand. "Try this."

Killua listened to the shuffling from behind the door, and the small gasp when Alluka finally had the top in place.

She opened the door and jumped into his arms.

"I love it, big brother! You're amazing!"

So, yeah. Killua Zoldyck, expert ex-assassin, killer of countless men, heir to the Zoldyck family business, wielder of lightning, and pro-Hunter, was now the proud owner of a monthly subscription to _Teen Vogue_ magazine. And every month, when he received his new edition, he'd take notes.

… because being a big brother means giving more than you've ever gotten.


	2. Eyelid

Sometimes, being a good big brother means also being a best friend… and since Alluka is a girl, well, being a best friend means wondering how exactly he'd managed to get lipstick on her eyelid.

"Shit, wait," Killua cursed, and Alluka giggled. He sometimes let one slip just to hear that little laugh. Killua leaned against the glass shower "curtain" in their hotel bathroom: it wasn't all that large, so squeezing the two of them in there would've been uncomfortable if Alluka weren't sitting on the sink counter, an iPad paused on a Smoky Eye tutorial propped against her thighs and stomach, examining the minimal progress Killua had made on her face.

It was obvious that Alluka was doing her best to hold back her laughter at how incredibly bad Killua was turning out to be at makeup. Killua had their new box of Maybelline makeup open on the toilet seat, and was examining a booklet of all the different products and brushes and how in sweet Hell they were supposed to be used.

"Oh," Killua muttered. "So mascara is for eyelashes, and the pencil is for eyebrows. But you already have eyebrows?"

He tilted Alluka's face toward him. She was biting her lip to contain herself. "Why do we have to draw on eyebrows?" Killua wondered aloud.

"Big brother," Alluka wheezed. "I don't think you're supposed to draw _new_ ones."

He shoved a hand in his hair and pulled. "Well, I _know_ that! But why do we have this stupid pencil?!"

Alluka started the tutorial again while Killua matched the various products they'd purchased to those shown in the manual, making a mental map of when to use each in his head.

 _C'mon Killua, you can do this._

When the woman in the tutorial started blending different shades of brown against her eyelid with three different types of brushes, Killua begged, _can I?_

(… _should I contact Hisoka?)_

Killua rapidly shook his head like a dog wearing a cone, a shiver running down his spine. Dispel that thought. Things hadn't come to that yet.

"Okay," he said, orienting himself. "We can do this."

"Big brother," Alluka said, "what if I just practiced on you? Since I'm the one that needs to know how to use it."

 _No!_ Screamed Killua's dignity. _Not me!_

But her expression showed only honest hope, a quiet plead, an itch to try for herself because this is what she really, really needed to feel right, but not wanting to push Killua for more than he is willing to give.

"I -" Killua started, then stopped. "Yeah, sure."

Alluka gaped with giddy excitement. "Really?!"

"I mean, yeah. Switch with me," Killua instructed, helping her off the counter and hopping up himself.

He kept his eyelids as steady as possible despite the fact that he was never, ever supposed to have someone this close to him: it set his nerves on fire, his brain into overload. It was kill or be killed.

But, it was no matter. Alluka was smiling at her progress, so Killua gripped the counter and tried to ignore the sensation of complete vulnerability—something he hadn't experienced since…

 _You can trust her. Ignore Illumi. Not all people will betray you. She isn't as capable of hurting you as… as…_

"There!" Alluka exclaimed after adding a touch of gloss to her brother's lips.

"How do I look?" Killua teased.

Alluka giggled. "See for yourself."

Killua swiveled to examine his face in the mirror. Alluka had recreated the smoky eye look, but instead with warm golds and bronze that made his blue eyes pop. She'd clearly gotten ahold of the _Vogue_ copies Killua kept in his backpack.

"Wow," Killua said. "You did a great job, Alluka." She hopped in glee from her brother's praise. "You're definitely a better makeup artist than I am, but hey—I can still do your hair."

Although Killua spent the next half hour trying to figure out why the goopy shit wouldn't get off his face, scrubbing his skin raw until Alluka finally came across a section in the manual indicating the makeup was, in fact, waterproof, followed by the two of them having to make a trip back to the drugstore, _still wearing the makeup_ mind you, it was worth it: Alluka was happy.


	3. Sheets

**A/N:** Hey guys! Thanks for reading/reviewing. Just letting you know, this fic does have a loose plot and should be around 5 or 6 chapters. Enjoy!

* * *

In the case of Killua and Alluka, being a big brother means sometimes having to be a father, too. And being a father when you're fifteen and your fourteen-year-old sister is going through her rebellious phase and doesn't seem to understand that your older brother is actively hunting you down and the reason you're constantly checking your back isn't to be bossy or controlling but is because you're terrified that he'll lock her up in the basement again and you wouldn't know what to do without her but at the same time her shoulders are getting too wide and she's insisting that hormones won't be enough and she says your fear of being unconscious around men with needles _Illumi said an assassin should never leave himself vulnerable_ had nothing to do with her and if you really loved her you'd sign the damn forms because it's unfair that she needed a legal guardian to decide what to do with her own body but that was that.

And sometimes it meant that you would do the only thing you're good at. You'd run away: not literally, but you'd retreat inside of yourself until her angry ramblings were over, breathing shallow, reminding yourself that Alluka had been locked in a basement for years. She was… _younger_ than fourteen, mentally, and not to get upset because she wasn't old enough to understand exactly how painful what she was saying was. She couldn't be held to the same standard as… as…

When it was over, when she finally picked up on her beloved brother's sullen face, or Nanika would insist on coming out to stop the fighting because she was a sensitive creature, Killua would simply stand up, exit the room _run away when there's a fight you can't win; run away when you're vulnerable_ and tremble with thick tears streaming down his face in the most isolated room available.

The worst was the time he found her sheets, soiled, and stuffed into their hotel closet like Killua wouldn't wonder why her mattress was bare and she'd locked herself in the bathroom shower for well over an hour, probably feeling disgusting. He'd pulled them out and scratched the back of his neck, not knowing whether to base his reaction off of Silva, his mother (not in a million years), Illumi, or Mito—who was obviously the best option—but how was he supposed to emulate a person with whom he'd only spent a week?

"Alluka," he'd called from the other side of the bathroom door. "I… this is normal, Alluka. It's not something you have to hide from me, or be embarrassed about."

"Brother!" She sniffled from the other side of the door, scandalized. "Please stop…"

"I know it's embarrassing, but it's not like you have to go it alone…" _like I did_ , he left out. "I've been through this, you know."

"I asked you to _stop,"_ she insisted. "You _haven't_ been through this and I know you think it's _normal_ but it's _not…_ not for a… for a girl."

And yeah, maybe if Killua had had an adequate role model to base his parenting off of, or if he'd thought for a damn _second_ about how it would feel to have one of his older brothers comforting him about his nocturnal emissions, he would've realized that maybe Alluka would want to "go it alone:" that maybe this discomfort was something she needed to experience for herself. But he didn't. So instead…

"Look, I would've left it, but this is a hotel and they're gonna be looking for the other sheets."

…Things had blown up, because he'd kept insisting she open the door, and she was already on edge, and he hadn't slept adequately in probably more than a month, staying up to ensure Illumi wouldn't find them, to research hormones, to feel his heart throb in his neck at the thought that they'd left a paper trail because that dude in the restaurant was looking at him weird and it definitely wasn't because he thought he was cute, so Killua pushed too far, and

"Just _STAY OUT OF IT!_ ", which was the first time he'd ever heard his sister truly scream, and Killua took a step backward from the door in surprise. "You're… you're making it worse!"

His ears were ringing. He couldn't get enough air. He did what he did best, exiting their room and onto the balcony. It wasn't cold, it being a temperate day in early July, but for some reason Killua couldn't keep his body still. It was like the needle was still in his head, and Illumi was in front of him, telling him he _can't he can't he can't_ except instead of a voice grabbing him and rendering him immobile, it was his whole body refusing to stay still, his chest collapsing, gasping for air, and he's never felt quite so full and vacant at the same time.

Alluka found him curled like a pill bug, clutching his chest. She'd screamed, because she was still just a kid and this was her big brother, her own personal hero who was supposed to be infallible and strong was shaking like a leaf on the floor because she'd told him to stay out of it, and she wasn't the only one who'd ever said those words.

 _…dark Nen, blood, the ragged remains of a body rotting in a hospital bed…_

 _"Just stay out of it!"_

So, Killua realized, absently, clutching his head to try to stop the onslaught of memories: sometimes being a parent means failing. Alluka, the person he was supposed to be protecting, guiding, caring for through what was proving to be one of the hardest times in her life, was soothing _him_ while _he_ panicked about something that was hurting _her._

 _"I love Killua,"_ Nanika repeated, clutching him, confused and grappling for words. _"I love Killua."_

When he'd finally willed himself calm again, it was Alluka who apologized first; she apologized for everything under the sun: for hurting him, for hiding the sheets, for locking the door, for being chased, for being weak, for existing, for not realizing how he felt. Killua never felt so inadequate in his life.


	4. Carrot Juice

Being a brother means knowing you have to be more.

Killua knows he's not enough. He knows because sometimes, when they're on an airship eating choco-robos and watching the tops of trees go by below them, he catches Alluka peering at empty seats around them. Sometimes, he catches her pausing, chopstick-deep into yet another takeout dish of noodles. Sometimes he sees her watching other preteen girls rolling their eyes at their mothers, who are telling them to avoid older boys.

Killua knows there's something missing from both of them. He first noticed when observing Mito and Gon on Whale Island, her fingers coated in carrot juices from cutting them into thumb-sized bites for her vegetable soup. Gon would do the dishes, and his grandmother would kiss his cheek.

There were still people missing from Gon, Killua knew: but what he had was more than Killua had ever experienced, despite the nerve-twisting fullness of the Zoldyck estate.

But with Alluka, Killua stopped _wanting_ more and started _wanting to be_ more.

He'd reached his breaking point when hormones had stopped being enough.

Somewhat reluctantly, Killua's late-night, coffee-fueled and slightly manic hormone research morphed into late-night, caffine-tremored and plain-old-furious surgery research, frequently interrupted by his anxious habit of obsessively checking the locks on the windows and doors, clearing his search history, and purchasing a new cellphone every month so Illumi couldn't track them.

The breaking point happened on the fourth day of sworn-off sleep, when his body failed him and he had a terrible nightmare about Illumi's needles being stuck in his joints, rendering him unable to move or scream while Illumi stole Alluka away from him. He woke up to Alluka shaking him, tears falling from her eyes to his cheeks, until he pulled her into him and whispered _you're here, you're here,_ over and over until their hearts slowed down and she fell asleep on top of him.

He found her on the phone with Leorio the next day, and when she passed the phone to him, Leorio chewed his ear off about _you people need to go to therapy, goddammit._ Killua took his advice when he saw the desperate plea in Alluka's eyes.

"So yeah, I guess I just don't know if I should be buying her everything she wants, cause I definitely can afford it, or if I should try to teach her to use discretion?"

Dr. Yousman shifted, eyes never leaving Killua's. Killua watched her tap her pen against her notepad, then looked back at the ceiling. He was used to feeling like he was being watched, but wondered if the sensation of the therapist's eyes boring into his profile was what victims of assassination felt seconds before his fingers were removing their larynx.

"So you're seeking parenting advice?" Dr. Yousman clarified, precise brows drawn together thoughtfully.

Killua nodded. "Yeah. I don't really know what I'm doing, and I read on your profile that you're a single mom, so I thought you might know."

She studied him. "When you seek familial advice, you typically go to a family therapist, and you go with the family member you're struggling with. Because we're doing a one-on-one session, I can only aid you with your side of the issue."

"Yeah, I know. I'm the whole problem."

She shifted again, noting "self-worth" and "responsibility?" on her notepad. "Do you feel like you've failed her?"

His chin knotted up. "Yeah."

"How so?"

"I have nightmares," he replied. Dr. Yousman wasn't sure if he was changing the subject or if this was an explanation.

"What are your nightmares about?"

Killua opened his mouth, then closed it again.

"Ants," he said simply


	5. Needles

Being a big brother means being afraid, but learning to let go anyway.

He'd been working through his anxiety about Alluka's upcoming top surgery (for which he'd returned to Heaven's Arena to obtain the necessary funds) with Dr. Yousman, the session always beginning with something about how to properly guide Alluka through the process and ending with him shouting some obscenities about how dangerous needles could be. Dr. Yousman would rub his shoulder much like she would for her own child, then give him a weekly exercise framed as parenting advice but more frequently about trust and working through negative experiences.

He barely slept at all in the months leading up to the surgery. Killua frequently left their hotel room after Alluka fell asleep, sitting outside the door and dialing Leorio to bug him with questions about _which hormone_ and _so when they cut her open, how…_ , and the med student would explain the same concepts over and over until Killua understood all the details and could quiet his mind. Sometimes Leorio would straight up read paragraphs of his textbook or send pictures of diagrams from class to Killua so he could get some goddamn sleep for once.

"Okay. So even if they mess up, like if they drop the knife into her or whatever—"

"Killua, they're surgeons, they're not gonna drop the damn knife!"

"But if they did, it's not like she's gonna be opened up enough for it to cut her heart open."

He could hear Leorio scrubbing a hand over his face from across the static. "Right. It's not open-heart surgery, Killua. She's gonna be knocked out, but she's not _that_ vulnerable."

Killua fidgeted. "Okay. Uh, thanks."

"Go to bed, Killua. Between you and Kurapika I swear…"

Killua apologized with a pang of guilt and let Leorio go.

The day of the surgery, Killua stayed in the hospital room until the very last second, and even then, the surgeon's assistant had to half-drag him out. Outside of the ICU, Killua wondered if he should bust in there and call the whole thing off. What did Alluka know about what she needed? What did Leorio know about safety? If anyone knew about how dangerous needles could be, it was Killua. Did he have the responsibility to rescue Alluka, and take the fallout when she awoke breast-less and betrayed? Is that what love is?

 _"_ _I've found what I want to do, Gon." A smile, wish of good luck. A laugh. Walking away. He'd felt that laugh in his teeth._

Maybe he did have a bit of Illumi in him, he thought. He eased his mind away from the needles, the nerve-racking buzz of having them implanted in anybody but him. Of course Alluka knew what was best for her. She'd wanted this her whole life, and would be thankful for it for the rest of it.

When the anesthesia wore off, Alluka would waken to her brother's white-knuckled hands clutching hers, much like he'd seen Gon do when Kurapika was hospitalized all those years ago. She awakens dreary-eyed, but bright: happy. She looks at her bandaged chest, and feels right for the very first time.

Love, to Killua, isn't trying to do what you think is best for someone. It's doing what scares you. It's having the courage to let go.


	6. Curtains

A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews! They get me super excited to write and keep me going. Enjoy the chapter!

* * *

Following the surgery, Alluka was to stay in bed recovering for the next two weeks. Unfortunately for Killua, who prefers to keep them moving around constantly to avoid being tracked by Illumi, that meant two things: anxiety, and spying.

The hospital, while top-ranking for SRS surgeons (hence the reason Killua chose it), was also an emergency facility equipped for lethal illness or death. Therefore, visiting hours for the family members of comparatively healthy patients were limited as to provide those with dying family with adequate privacy and space to mourn. After midnight, Killua, despite his concern about Alluka being taken away or attacked, was not allowed in the hospital.

His first instinct had been to sneak in, and hide under the bed. But if something went terribly wrong, he could be in the way of rushing doctors and nurses, his presence eating away precious seconds of time needed to save her. He supposed he could hide elsewhere in her room, but what if that upset Alluka? And in hiding from the eyes of attentive nurses and doctors, he may be unable to see her himself. What if Illumi were to use needle man on an unsuspecting nurse, and Killua didn't see her inject Alluka with a lethal dose of Morphine?

So that's how Killua wound up perched in a tree outside of Alluka's bedroom window, soaked in rain and malcontent. He was hidden from the doctors and nurse's sight by the rustling leaves and half-cocked blinds, but his (albeit ankle-numbing) position on the limb was such that he could see Alluka's face and the monitor illuminating her vitals. If any physician got close enough to her to administer a drug, Killua would easily see the nape of their neck.

Every few hours, he would investigate the hospital from the roof down. If Illumi had somehow entered the hospital, he could've easily stuck workers or patients with needleman, and if an army of them flooded Alluka's room, Killua would have to disconnect her from her painkillers, hormones, and (worst of all) her vitals monitor. Fighting off opponents was one thing; fighting off opponents in a tight space, with his sister being targeted while in a physically compromised state, was a risk. And Killua didn't take risks when it came to Alluka's wellbeing.

He'd start out creeping around a patient's room. Sometimes, he'd have to carefully evade people crying by bedsides, the heart rate monitor slowing to an agonizing screech of death. Killua would creep under the bed, checking necks for needles, and sneak out the door.

All this sneaking, even for an ex-pro-assassin, was rather difficult in a building filled with glass doors.

He'd get in carts moving dirty or fresh towels, hearing the nurse grunt with strain from his extra weight, then tumble into another room full of people examining some weird black and white scans and yelling at each other about tumors and brains.

He'd be under some poor physician's desk, making sure his spying hadn't taken up more than a few minutes, when said physician started crying and questioning her life choices. The poor woman was still working past midnight. Being good was hard, Killua thought.

He witnessed blood transfusions, ER surgeons rushing from nap to scrubs, kidney failure, nurses rubbing their feet down after a long shift, and everything in between, memorizing the faces of each person he passed, monitoring if they recently arrived or left or had been lurking a while, trying to figure out why people were there to make sure nobody was giving intel on _him,_ and then return to his branch.

This went on for days.

During the day, he'd try to fit in a nap or two at Alluka's bedside, but she was bored and wanted to play. He was exhausted by the time he dragged himself to his consultation with her physician and surgeon, talking about _good recovery_ and _might want to stay a few extra days in case_. He'd try not to think about how he'd caught one of them picking his nose the night before.

Things were hard, but they were physically harder for Alluka, so Killua took it upon himself to try to make her transition as painless as possible for her, starting with her curtains.

"How're you feeling?" Killua asked one morning. Alluka gave a bright smile and sat up straighter. Before she could get too far up, she sat back with a small wince.

"A little sore, but so, so happy!" She beamed at him. She was… _shining._ His heart stopped, momentarily seeing honeycomb-amber eyes instead of her sky blue ones. He smiled. He loved his sister so much.

"I'm also happy," Killua replied. Her smile somehow widened. "Is there anything I can do to make stuff even better?"

Truthfully, although being away from Alluka at night was terrifying to Killua, being told that she couldn't leave a room and couldn't have any overnight visitors was probably awful to Alluka, who'd been the Zoldyck family hostage for most of her life. Killua wanted her to feel as _not_ at home as possible in her tiny hospital room.

"Hmm…" She pondered. Her room was a sterile white, save for some light yellow stains at the base of the eggshell curtains. Killua wouldn't have noticed it at all, had she not been looking that way. He imagined nobody would've noticed it if she didn't have all the time in the world to study the small intricacies of her room.

"Alright," Killua said, and abruptly stood. Alluka's head whipped to face him, startled. "Your doctor's gonna be in here to check your progress in a minute, so I'm gonna head out."

"I love you, big brother!" Alluka exclaimed when he kissed her head. She probably realized he picked up on her practically invisible signaling. "Bring snacks!"

"Well, duh," Killua joked. "Who do you think you're talking to, here?"

He left just as the doctor entered, and began a tumultuous journey to find the perfect curtains for Alluka.

One might question what could possibly be so difficult about shopping for curtains. Certainly a former assassin of Killua's caliber had overcome larger obstacles. However, these weren't just any curtains; these curtains, as staples in Alluka's bedroom, were supposed to improve her mood, which, as a simple reflection of hormonal balance, would impact her health. In other words, they were a vital piece of her recovery! And, as a determinant of the pace of her recovery, were therefore crucial in determining whether they'd be able to escape the hospital quick enough to evade a seemingly ever-present Illumi, who was probably just a step behind them.

In other words, they weren't _just curtains,_ so back off.

Killua spent what felt like _hours_ slaving over colors, textures, weights, and patterns. On one hand, Alluka loved a soft pink, and the lighter cotton ones would billow in the gentle breezes when she opened the window, letting in the fresh spring air. On the other hand, Killua wasn't sure he _wanted_ the window open, because that made it easier for enemies to attack.

But then, Killua thought, trailing scarred fingers over a heavier checkered pastel one, she might not like how overwhelming this pattern is. The last thing she needed in her recovery was more tension: more stress. But these curtains were a thicker fabric, so people outside the window couldn't spy as easily.

Killua walked away, remembering that he, in fact, was spying on her.

A few excruciating hours of that, an enthusiastic salesman trying a little too hard, Killua's fingers having been scraped and cut and broken too many times to properly discern the nuances of _this pleated texture_ and _oh, but THAT heavier cotton is so~_ , and a good 8 hours of his missing sleep suddenly seeming so appealing, and Killua was out of there, frustratingly empty handed.

It's just—look, it's not that the curtains were _complicated._ Sure- they had many different textures, fabrics, weights, lengths, colors and patterns, but that wasn't the problem. It's just that Alluka is really important, and she really hates orange, and that guy for some reason thought that _he'd_ know more about what she likes than her own brother, which is ridiculous! There wasn't anything wrong with the pink curtain, and actually the silk felt really nice, but it's too dangerous to have the window open, and she'd want to have it open if the curtains would dance like that, but the bright green ones were too heavy, so they'd block out any natural light, which-

"-isn't good when you're stuck in doors for two plus weeks straight, I mean Alluka was stuck in a _basement_ for half of her life, the last thing she needs is to be away from sunlight, and anyway green isn't her color, green is Gon's color— _and God he's so much better at this stuff_ —but as much as I liked the striped ones, that stupid retail moron told me it was 50% _nylon_ ; I mean, who makes curtains with _NYLON?_ It's not _supposed_ to stretch, it just hangs! What if it stretched out so much it stopped being just a curtain and started being a rug too? And he was so judgmental about it too, I mean if it's such a crappy curtain, why are you trying to sell it to me, and— wow, I'm rambling about curtains, aren't I."

—Killua deadpanned, realizing what he must sound like. He leaned back into the leather couch, covering his face with his hands in part embarrassment and in part returning frustration. It was so hard being everything—a brother, a mother, a father, a caretaker, a bodyguard, a teacher, a friend— _all of it,_ all at once.

Doctor Yousman shifted to cross her legs, and leaned forward on one astute elbow.

"Who's Gon?"


	7. Earth

"So I take it she's recovering well, then?" Leorio asked thoughtfully from the other end of the line. Killua hummed in agreement, but was more focused on the distant quietness in Leorio's voice. He was normally so warm and almost foolishly certain— it seemed to Killua that this was common among enhancers— that Killua could immediately tell something was off about him even without seeing his face.

"Yeah, she's doing alright. Bored to tears, though," KIllua added through a yawn. "What's new with you?"

"Ah, nothing," Leorio dismissed, "constantly studying, eating, shitting, you know the deal. Pretty tired, but I'm not _completely_ overworking myself."

Killua waited. He wasn't normally known for his patience, but he'd learned over the years that Leorio was like him, in some ways: needing time to admit the emotional stuff. He also knew that, like him, Leorio could worry almost obsessively.

"He hasn't picked up the phone in months," Leorio admits.

"Kurapika?"

Killua could hear the bristly sound of Leorio's hand scrubbing over his face, down to the scruff on his jaw.

"He's insane. He thinks that if he just stops talking to us, that we can't get hurt, but he really has no idea what he's doing."

"But it's not like you do, either," Killua remarked. He was seated outside of Alluka's room, while the physicians were assessing the condition of her healing chest. Before having gone into the room, the doctors had asked Killua if he'd be willing to have her stay in town as an out-patient for a few weeks, since she was on the younger side of patients who usually received this kind of operation. Killua had felt his insides twist in fear. Was it safe to stay here for so long, especially when so much of Alluka's medical information—even when under a fake name— was in the hospital database? Was it less safe to leave and risk Alluka's body recovering incorrectly, or getting an infection? As much research as Killua did, he really wouldn't know what to look for, and doubted Alluka wanted her brother inspecting her breasts all the time. The physicians, in seeing his uncertainty, had graciously left him the privacy to decide, and Killua was glad to receive his weekly call from Leorio to take his mind off of how terrifying and difficult making all of these important decisions all on his own was becoming.

Leorio stopped when he heard Killua say this. He was usually brash, but also knew when someone needed to hear something.

"Well, yeah, but we don't have to know what to do all the damn time. Nobody really does. We just need to be listening. Everything's easier when you have support."

Killua remained silent for a beat. He, or maybe Leorio, was about to say something, but it was interrupted by one of the physicians leaving Alluka's room to call Killua in for the consultation. He quickly wished Leorio good luck getting ahold of Kurapika and bid farewell, before hanging up.

* * *

 _"Who's Gon?"_

Killua groans, because there it was, and maybe he should've started all of these sessions with this because now she's gonna realize how much of her time he's been wasting. Killua looks away from her, his cheeks warm, and says, "a friend."

"Where is he now? I haven't heard you talk about him," Dr. Yousman presses, already writing on that suspicious little notepad. Whenever she'd write something, Killua would get offended—what does _that_ have to do with my mental state? I mean ALLUKA—and try to psychoanalyze himself: wait, is that not normal? Don't other people do that?

"Yeah, he's at home. Haven't talked in a while," Killua tries to respond casually, but he's doing that thing where he rubs his left hand, like his mom is still carefully breaking each finger, which Dr. Yousman has pointed out he does whenever he feels vulnerable.

"Did you want him to go home?" Dr. Yousman asks, as though she'd known everything all along.

"Kinda," Killua rasps. It wasn't that he wanted Gon away from him, but he definitely thought that Gon needed some time to… _recover._

Dr. Yousman writes something down with knit brows, and Killua bristles with defensiveness. She probably thought he was an asshole, now.

"I take it you miss him?"

Killua nods quietly. When prompted, Killua reluctantly explains details of his relationship with Gon, how they met, how it was his first time being a kid and not being an assassin, and the inevitable ending. Dr. Yousman stays mostly quiet, and doesn't write a single note down. It's like she's finally put together the puzzle. When Killua's done talking, which seems to go on forever, she doesn't say anything for a while. When she finally does speak, she recrosses her legs, and sets her notepad aside.

"So tell me," she says. "What was it like being an assassin?"

Ostensibly, the question was a 180 from what they were discussing just seconds before, but Killua feels tears prick in the back of his eyes at the honesty of the trajectory, because she's completely in his head now. He rubs at his eyes, because Gon, Alluka, and assassination are intimately related, and he's ready for Dr. Yousman to finally guide him through the heavy hurt in his chest.

"It was cold and lonely," Killua chokes. It's the first time that he's ever responded to a question about his childhood without complaining that he's come to her for advice about Alluka, not himself.

"Can you tell me more?" She gently prods. Killua aches.

"I can't tell you anything specific, because that'll put both of us in danger," Killua says. "But I can tell you a little bit about my family, and how they trained me."

She nods, and he begins. "There were always at least three involved in every conversation with my parents: me, them, and assassination. Our childhoods were business. It got between us."

He speaks until his voice is raw. He leaves out most of the details too sweaty to share with anyone less than a Zoldyck themselves, and mostly skims over the general principals of torture training than going into depth about it. He talks about his parents and older brother, family dynamics, how he had to feel his way through the dark to figure out anyone's motives at any given time, or whose side any particular butler was on before doing anything in front of them. He talks about always knowing there was more. He talks about leaving, and finding it.

"I… don't really know what to say," Dr. Yousman starts, when Killua is finished and laying completely drained on the couch. "To start, I'd like to tell you how impressed I am with who you turned out to be despite all of this."

Killua nods from beneath his hands.

"And, I know you're tired," she continues, "But I have one more question for you. Given… _all of that_ , I suppose, where did you learn to be so good to Alluka?"

Killua knows the question is rhetorical, because she's got him all figured out. She waits patiently for him while he catches up.

He thinks about Leorio by Kurapika's bedside, holding his hand through sickness, or Kurapika's soft smiles when Gon says something stupid. He thinks about Gon cooking an extra fish by the starlight fireside, and unabashedly looking Killua straight in the eyes to tell him how much he cares. He thinks about nightmares, and slinking into Gon's bed at night, defeated, and how Gon wouldn't say anything about it in the morning. He thinks about how Gon somehow always knew when to speak and when to back off. He thinks about wanting to do right, and knowing how for the first time.

As usual, Dr. Yousman was right. Three might be a jagged number in a conversation, but it was hard to be apart from someone when so much of your identity is wrapped into theirs. Gon wasn't perfect, and his mistake had hurt like Hell, but neither was Leorio, or Kurapika, or Killua (let's face it, the curtains he picked up were _terrible_ ), and maybe that was okay; none of them had to be, because they had each other to fall back on. Maybe it was time.

* * *

Being a good big brother means setting a good example. Sometimes, setting a good example means realizing you have to take care of yourself, too. Sometimes, that means revisiting past wounds, needing help, feeling old pain so you can finally heal. And sometimes, healing means acknowledging that things would be better— _you_ would be better, and would they be, too?— if someone you're missing were by your side.

Killua stands outside of Alluka's hospital room. The air smells sterile, and Killua prefers the woodland-green scent of his imperfect and sustaining Earth, but the few remaining lights seem to shine through the evening light like stars on a clear summer night's sky.

Killua unlocks his phone and punches in the familiar numbers like a prayer. He waits for the phone to ring, and listens as reverently as the moon would be if the Earth went still, carefully tiptoeing as to not disrupt the tides.

Gon picks up, and the Earth begins rotating again.


End file.
